


The World Will Follow After

by missbecky



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life with Harry Hart is full of little surprises. Or, five things Eggsy accidentally learns about Harry, and one thing Harry comes right out and tells him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Will Follow After

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to the people who graciously provided me with proper translations for one section. The translations themselves are in the end notes.
> 
> Title comes from the song Accidentally in Love, which was my working title. Inspiration for this story came originally from a Tumblr post that said we know pretty much nothing canonically about Harry, and yet we love him anyway. And I thought, Well, that isn't quite true. We know he speaks Arabic. But what if he speaks a ton of different languages? 
> 
> Everything else kind of followed from there.

_1\. Curls_

 

At first it's just another normal Tuesday morning. Harry kisses Eggsy good-morning and gets up, then heads for the shower. Eggsy takes advantage of his chance to burrow deeper into the covers and doze for a few minutes. When the water turns off, though, he makes himself roll over with a heavy groan and climb out of bed.

He throws on yesterday's T-shirt and picks up his sleep pants from where they're lying in a heap on the floor. Barefoot, he goes downstairs, yawning the whole way. JB dances around in front of the door, so happy to see him his whole rump is wagging.

"Yeah, yeah," Eggsy mutters. He opens the door.

And that's when JB decides to change things up. Instead of happily wandering onto the little patch of grass that he's made his own, the pug charges up the lane toward the busy street beyond.

Eggsy stares in disbelief at first. It's a bright sunny morning, nice and warm for the end of summer. He watches JB disappear around the corner and then it suddenly sinks in.

"Shit!" he yells. He turns around and hollers into the depths of the house. "Harry! Get down here now!"

He turns to see if JB has reappeared – nope – and looks back at the sound of brisk footsteps. He watches as Harry hurries down the stairs, one hand behind his back. He's put his trousers on, but his shirt is unbuttoned and his hair is wet and hanging over his forehead. "What is it?"

Eggsy stares. "Are you armed right now?"

Harry gives him a tight-lipped glare. "Why did you yell like that?"

Eggsy gestures at the door. "JB ran off."

The look on Harry's face is priceless. For a few moments Eggsy can see he's debating the merits of saying what he quite obviously wants to say – _he's your dog, you go get him._ Then he sighs and brings his arm around, and hell yeah, he's armed. "Put some shoes on," he says wearily.

They head out together, but split up at the end of the lane. "Text me if you find him, yeah?" Eggsy says. He tries not to let on how worried he is at the thought of JB out there among all that London traffic.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Harry says encouragingly.

It takes almost an hour, but ultimately Harry is proven right. As he's walking down a side street, Eggsy spots JB sniffing curiously at a patch of grass between two rubbish bins. He calls out in happy relief, and the dog looks up at the sound of his name. His tail starts to wag.

"Oh boy, am I gonna kill you," Eggsy croons in his sweetest voice and pats his thighs in a _come here_ gesture.

JB comes running up, and all is well again. He pulls out his phone as he walks back, JB tucked safely beneath his arm. _Found him._

Harry's response is swift. _Good._

He walks quickly back toward the house, well aware that they're going to be late to HQ today. Which figures, given that Arthur's holding a breakfast meeting. This couldn't have happened on any other day.

He reaches the lane leading to Harry's house and he turns the corner. JB squirms in his arms like he wants to get down and Eggsy says, "Well you shoulda thought of that before you run off."

"Eggsy."

He turns around at the sound of Harry's voice and his jaw drops.

Harry walks toward him, longer strides eating up the distance between them. It's only been an hour since Eggsy saw him, but he looks vastly different. He's buttoned up his shirt, but that's not the reason for the change.

Eggsy stares and stares, and he feels himself grinning, a stupid, dopey grin he absolutely can't prevent from taking over his entire face. He couldn't stop himself right now for all the money in the world.

Harry stops in front of him. "What is it?" he asks. He looks first at JB, then at Eggsy, clearly trying to figure out why Eggsy is staring at him like that.

Still grinning, Eggsy gestures with his chin. "Harry," he says. "You got curls."

Immediately Harry's posture changes. He straightens his shoulders and his lips thin out. "Yes," he says dryly. "How very observant of you. Now if you don't mind, we're already late for our meeting."

Eggsy doesn't point out the fact that Harry is habitually late for just about everything. He's too busy staring as Harry leads the way back to the house.

He knew, of course, that on its own Harry's hair naturally falls into thick waves, especially after periods of physical exertion like working out at the gym or enthusiastic sex. But he's never seen it like this, all loose curls just begging to be coiled around Eggsy's fingers. He itches to sink his hands into Harry's hair and see how it feels right now.

Screw the meeting. He'd rather screw Harry.

Harry, of course, has other ideas. Once they get inside and the door is safely shut so Eggsy can put JB down, he says, "Hurry up and get dressed. I'll call for one of the taxis and let Merlin know we're running late."

"Think he probably already knows," Eggsy says.

Harry's silent glare is answer enough.

Eggsy takes a shower and gets dressed in record time. It's not that he cares about being late to Kingsman HQ. His reasons are much more personal – he doesn't want to find out that Harry managed to tame those curls while he wasn't there to stop him.

Luck is with him, though. Having obviously decided that the damage is already done, Harry waits for him impatiently by the door, curls and all. He's got his umbrella with him even though it's still bright and sunny out.

Eggsy adjusts his cuffs as he jogs lightly down the stairs. "Ready?" He looks at Harry and grins.

****

On the shuttle to HQ, he sits beside Harry, tucking his feet beneath him so he gains a couple inches in height. He smiles. "Hi."

Harry glances over; he's reading the news on his mobile since they didn't have time to watch TV this morning. Eggsy still can't get over how different he looks without his hair so rigidly parted and styled. He doesn't seem so intimidatingly posh anymore. He's softer all over and more approachable, even with the expensive bespoke suit and glasses.

He's also sexy as hell.

Eggsy lets his right hand drift up so he can rub little circles on Harry's back. "I'm sorry about JB runnin' away," he says.

"You should be," Harry says absently, still reading today's headlines.

Eggsy slides his hand upward. For a little while he rubs the back of Harry's neck. It's something he knows Harry likes, and he's rewarded now by the sight of Harry's eyes fluttering closed as he lets himself accept the touch.

He can't stop there, though. It's impossible. He simply can't resist any longer. Biting his lower lip, he lets his fingers drift upward again, and finally lets them sink into those curls on Harry's head.

"Yes, Harry," he sighs. He knows he's grinning that dopey grin again and he simply doesn't give a shit. Those curls are exactly as soft as he thought they would be. Before he can stop himself, he leans in, nuzzling at Harry's neck, then turning his head so he can feel the softness of Harry's hair on his cheek.

"Are you quite through?" Harry says with a sigh.

"I can't help it you look so good today," Eggsy says. He rests his head on Harry's shoulder and leans against him.

"I always look good," Harry replies.

"Yeah," Eggsy says, "but this is sexy. I like it." He sits up straight again.

Harry doesn't even glance up from his mobile. "There is nothing sexy about a man's hair."

Eggsy shakes his head. "Oh, Harry. You are so wrong about that." He can't help reaching up to twine his finger about one of the curls peeking up just above Harry's collar. "You should do this more often."

"I most certainly will not," Harry says tartly. But he shifts ever so slightly in his seat, leaning a tiny bit closer to Eggsy.

"I could somehow manage to lose your expensive pomade," Eggsy says innocently, and twists that curl about his finger again.

"Do that," Harry says, "and I will be forced to inform Lancelot that the real reason you were late to your rendezvous in Moscow wasn't because you were jetlagged, but because you allowed a small child to pickpocket you, and you lost both your room key and your money."

Appalled, Eggsy sits up again and returns his hand to his lap. "You wouldn't!"

"You of all people should know what I am capable of," Harry says mildly. He still doesn't look up, but the tiny smile playing about his mouth is more than enough to tell Eggsy that he's thoroughly enjoying their conversation.

Grinning again, Eggsy relaxes. He loves when Harry does this, loves even more that he's probably the only person on this planet who Harry feels comfortable enough around to tease. It took him some time to uncover the wicked sense of humour Harry possesses, and he never gets tired of seeing it come out to play.

"Fine," he says with a melodramatic sigh. "Have it your way, love."

"Thank you, my dear," Harry says.

"Don't mention it," Eggsy says and leans in. He catches a glimpse of Harry's quick smile, then he closes his eyes as they kiss, slow and sweet.

He would love to do more, turn that kiss into something else, so of course that's when he feels the shuttle start to slow down as they arrive at Kingsman HQ. Reluctantly he pulls away and takes a deep breath, licking his lips to capture the last lingering taste of Harry's mouth.

They head through HQ, past the window overlooking the immense hangar below and into the nerve center of the mansion. They're almost at the conference room when Merlin and Percival turn the corner and see them. Percival does a double take when he sees Harry, and can't seem to stop staring. Beside him, Merlin coughs, hiding a smile.

Harry sighs. He looks at Eggsy. "You're sacked."

"Hah," Eggsy retorts. "You can't sack me."

"Would that I could," Harry says glumly.

"Good morning, Galahad," Merlin says dryly. "Gawain. I'm impressed by your timing. The meeting just broke up."

"Yes, I gathered as much," Harry says.

"Better go on then," Percival says with a gesture over his shoulder. "Arthur's still in there."

Squaring his shoulders, Eggsy follows Harry into the conference room.

*******

_2\. Fear_

 

Harry will turn anything into a lesson if he can, and usually Eggsy's cool with this. He knows he's got a lot to learn, and he's always eager for new information. Especially when it's something useful like cracking open a vault door.

However, there are exceptions.

"I don't really think this is the time, Harry."

"Nonsense," Harry replies. "If you aren't going to learn now, when will you?"

"I dunno," Eggsy says. He's got his gun out, his back to the vault door as he watches the hallway for a sign of anyone approaching. "Maybe when we aren't on the clock, and there isn't a houseful of bad guys above us?"

"We don't know they're bad guys," Harry says mildly. He squints behind his glasses at the lock he's currently manipulating. "Although I do question their choice of serving a Riesling with the lamb at dinner, that doesn't make them -–"

"Harry, we faked invitations to have dinner here so we can break into their vault and steal part of a bomb," Eggsy says. "I think that makes them the bad guys."

"Gentlemen, if I may interrupt this fascinating lover's spat," Merlin says over their glasses, "I think the situation isn't exactly what we anticipated."

"Of course it ain't," Eggsy says, because when is it ever. Also, he's trying very hard not to blush, because seriously Merlin, that wasn't cool.

"What do you have for us?" Harry asks, as composed as ever. He never takes his eyes off the locking mechanism of the vault door, a fine gold instrument in one hand as he works at the lock.

"Originally we thought this was the door to the vault itself," Merlin says, "and the device we were after was inside. But I'm getting better schematics of the house, thanks to Lancelot's scans, and it now seems that this is only the outer door."

"Outer door to what?" Eggsy demands.

"It appears to be a large open space. Could be anything behind that door. The vault itself is at the opposite end," Merlin says. Sounding almost ridiculously cheerful, he adds, "Oh, and you now have eleven minutes – at the most – before your hosts notice your absence and send someone looking for you."

"No pressure," Eggsy mutters.

Harry swears under his breath, then, "Ah," and he finally unlocks the door.

While Harry is packing up his safecracking tools, Eggsy turns around and goes in first, his gun leading the way. He has no idea what to expect, no idea if he's about to get his head blown off by a pack of hired mercenaries. Adrenaline sings through his veins and he can hear his own heart beating.

God, he fucking loves his job.

Beyond the vault door stretches a long hallway. Lamps hang from the ceiling at intervals, and he can see the second door at the far end, looking even more intimidating than the one they just broke into. There's no one here, no one to shoot at them or try to stop them.

Just the snakes.

There must be hundreds of them, coiled up and milling around on the floor. They hiss and slither all over each other, packed so closely in some places it looks like they've become knotted together. There's room to walk among them, though, if you don't mind mincing around on your tiptoes – and if you aren't afraid of being bitten.

"Seriously?" Eggsy mutters, and holsters his weapon. He's seen plenty of weird things in his time at Kingsman, but this has got to be in the top five, at least.

He looks over his shoulder with a grin. "Little bit _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ for my taste, but -–" And then he stops dead. "Harry?"

Harry is staring at the snakes with a look on his face Eggsy has never seen before. He can see the whites of Harry's eyes, and his jaw is clenched so tightly it's gotta hurt. His eyes dart all over the place, like he's trying to see all of them at once. When one of the snakes nearest the door hisses at them, he actually flinches.

"Okay, so I see why this works," Eggsy sighs. "Harry?"

"Yes," Harry replies automatically. He still hasn't looked away from the snakes.

"Harry, we gotta do this," Eggsy says. He isn't afraid of snakes or bugs (although spiders give him the heebie-jeebies like whoa), but they've still got to move with care through this room. He figures there's gotta be some way to neutralise the snakes, something only their wonderful hosts upstairs know about. If they had more time, they could search for that hidden device, but they don't. Their window of opportunity is down to ten minutes now, and if they don't get back upstairs before then, their carefully crafted secret identities aren't going to be worth shit. And then they'll be fighting for their lives against a private army, which isn't exactly how Eggsy plans to spend his evening, thank you very much.

"I'm not sure I can," Harry says quietly.

"You have to," Eggsy says. He can't crack open that vault door at the end of the room. And the clock is working against them, time ticking away with every second.

Harry doesn't answer. He takes a deep breath, and Eggsy can see his shame. He knows Harry is beating himself up right now, yelling at himself to get moving, do the job, do his duty, just get going. 

Eggsy knows all this because it's exactly what he does to himself when he's afraid. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't, and he needs a swift kick in the arse to get moving.

But that's not going to work now, and at any rate he could never do that to Harry. So he says, "You trust me, yeah?"

"With all my heart," Harry says, and he looks over at Eggsy for the first time since he saw the snakes.

Eggsy holds out his right hand.

Harry looks down at his hand, then back up at his face. He hesitates only a moment longer, then he reaches out and clasps his cold fingers about Eggsy's. He closes his eyes.

"I got you," Eggsy says. He slips his left arm around Harry's waist and starts walking forward.

It's slow going. He doesn't really know much about snakes, but he's guessing these can't be too poisonous. What if they ever got out of this room? No one would want to take that risk. The sheer numbers of them are overwhelming, and plenty of people are scared of them. That alone makes them a damn good security system. 

But Eggsy is determined to do this. He figures as long as they move slowly and don't make any loud noises, they should be fine. Right?

"Keep your eyes closed," he says. They ease forward. Harry grips his hand tightly enough to hurt, but Eggsy doesn't make a sound. He's never seen Harry like this. He had started to think Harry was one of those rare people who simply wasn't afraid of anything. In a way it's almost comforting to know he was wrong.

On the other hand, it's really awful to see Harry reduced to a state of such terror. He wishes he knew what caused that fear in the first place, if Harry was bitten as a child, or how it happened. He wishes he knew the right words to take away Harry's fear and make him feel safe again.

"Doin' great," he says. A snake hisses at him as they walk past, and Harry jumps and shies into him, almost causing him to stumble. Eggsy catches his balance quickly – those old gymnastic skills have never left him – but his heart rate spikes as a result, and won't come back down again.

He refuses to let it show, though. He just keeps walking slowly, guiding Harry forward, determined to earn the absolute trust Harry is showing in him.

"Eight minutes, gentlemen," Merlin says in his ear.

"Bit busy now," Eggsy snaps. He sets his feet down carefully, using the toe of his shoe to prod a couple snakes out of the way. He's slightly less concerned about his own footing – he can walk over them if he has to – but Harry can't see where he's going. He's utterly dependent on Eggsy to guide him, and that means it's imperative to keep his path clear.

"I apologise," Harry says breathlessly. He straightens up a little, leaning less on Eggsy for support.

"Don't be a wanker," Eggsy says. "It ain't your fault. And anyway, if this was spiders, you'd have to carry me to get me down there."

"I would do that," Harry says.

"I know you would," Eggsy says fondly. Fucking hell, he loves this man.

Their countdown is at seven minutes by the time they reach the other vault door. Eggsy lets go of Harry, and after a few seconds, Harry slowly releases his hand. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

Eggsy's positioned himself so he stands directly in front of Harry, making sure he's the first thing Harry sees when he opens his eyes. He nods and smiles reassuringly. "Okay," he says. He gestures over his shoulder to the vault door at his back. "Time to get to work, Galahad."

"Yes," Harry says. He's still way too pale, and that shame burns bright in his eyes, but he's clearly back on track again.

"But first," Eggsy says, and he leans in. He gives Harry a kiss, and Merlin can just fuck off if he doesn't like having to watch it.

Harry kisses him back with a little more violence than is necessary, but Eggsy can feel him almost shaking all over, so he gives as good as he gets, opening his mouth to Harry's, as sloppy and wet as he can make it. Anything to take Harry's mind off the snakes at their back.

" _Gentlemen_ ," and it's amazing how Merlin can hiss even without a sibilant, like he's part-snake, too.

Eggsy pulls away from the kiss and grins so the feed from Harry's glasses picks it up. "Aw, don't be jealous, bruv," he smirks.

Harry smiles a little, although there's a reproof in his eyes. It's the way he's been looking at Eggsy ever since his training days, and Eggsy can't help grinning. He kind of loves it when Harry looks at him like that.

But they're down to six minutes now and they've got a vault door to get open, a bomb trigger to steal, and then they have to creep back through the snakes again to get back to the dinner party upstairs. So he looks at Harry, all serious now, and he says, "You ready?" 

Harry nods. "Ready."

*******

_3\. Will_

 

One of the first things Eggsy learns about Harry, before V-Day, even before that last, failed trial with the dog, is that Harry doesn't like to cook. Harry had explained this as he was setting the table with a horrifying amount of silverware as part of his quest to teach Eggsy how to behave like a proper gentleman.

"So what do you do, then?" Eggsy had asked, mostly to take his mind off the humiliation sure to come.

"Eat out mostly," Harry had replied as he laid another fork down.

"So that fancy kitchen goes to waste?" Eggsy had teased.

"Oh, I _can_ cook," Harry had said, setting yet another fork down, this one so tiny it barely qualified as a fork. "I just don't like to. I fail to see the point in spending three hours working on a meal that takes fifteen minutes to eat."

Eggsy, who kind of liked cooking even though his menu was rather limited, had just nodded. He hadn't really been able to argue with that logic.

Once he moves in, though, things change.

They go out a lot at first, often to terrifyingly posh restaurants that would never let someone like Eggsy sully their premises unless he was wearing his bespoke suit. Harry sometimes turns the meal into another etiquette lesson, which is surprisingly effective at calming Eggsy's nerves.

At first it's novel and fun, and he enjoys it. Before Harry and Kingsman he could never afford to eat out very often – McDonald's was usually his go-to restaurant of choice, and even that was out of his price range an awful lot. But after a while it starts to get old, and he just wants to go home at night with Harry and have dinner at that beautiful wood dining room table and relax.

He finally says something one night after they've come back from another trip to Harry's favorite restaurant. Eggsy had way too much to eat; he feels a bit bloated and gross, and he knows he's going to have to spend extra time in the gym tomorrow to make up for it. He's also rather cranky because some arsehole on the Tube was in such a hurry that he shoved Eggsy out of the way and into the wall hard enough to bruise.

Sometimes he really hates other people.

They walk in and JB comes running up, panting to see them so it looks like he's smiling. Eggsy leans over to pet him, then straightens up and takes off his coat. "How about we just stay in tomorrow?"

Harry considers this as he undoes the buttons on his suit jacket. "We could, I suppose. Order something and—"

"No," Eggsy says. "I mean, stay in. As in, make our own dinner. You know, that fancy new thing called cooking?"

"Yes, I've heard of it," Harry says dryly.

"Then why don't we ever do that?" Eggsy asks. He reaches for the knot in his tie. "Just make something and stay in? Makes a nice change, you know?"

"We can do that," Harry says.

He's already won, but Eggsy's in a bad mood, and for some reason he simply can't let it go. "Great, 'cause I'm gettin' kinda tired of going out every night. It gets old, Harry."

"Then we can stay in more often," Harry says, "if that's what you want."

"Yeah," Eggsy says. "It's what I want." He jerks one shoulder up in a shrug. "Nice to finally have a say in what we do."

Harry's head tilts ever-so-slightly in that way he has when he's irritated. "If that's how you feel about it, why haven't you said anything before now?"

"I dunno," Eggsy says. He shakes his head, aware that he's maybe gone too far, and completely unable to explain why. It's just like this, sometimes, when he's spoiling for a fight. "But I just did."

"So you have," Harry says coolly. He heads for the stairs.

Something in the stiffness of his posture clues Eggsy in. "What?" he asks.

Harry stops, one foot on the stair above him, the other still on the ground. "Nothing," he says.

"No," Eggsy says. There's a growing dismay in the back of his head. He knows now that they are going to row, and it's going to be fucking horrid, but he still can't seem to shut up. "Tell me."

"I think it's best we end this conversation now," Harry says. He's speaking in that smooth tone of voice that means he's well and truly pissed off, but doing his best to pretend he's not. Eggsy hears it a lot when Harry is talking to one of their targets, usually someone who's about thirty seconds away from staring at the business end of a Kingsman pistol.

It's not often he hears it aimed at himself.

"No," he says again, louder this time. "I want you to tell me." Already his mind is racing ahead to the fight itself, imagining all the awful things Harry will say, starting with _I should never have let you move in here with me_ and ending with _Pack your things and get out._

"Very well," Harry says crisply. He comes back down the steps and faces him. He looks at Eggsy with the same angry disappointment as he did on that terrible day when Eggsy failed his test and he thought Harry died in front of that church in Kentucky. "I thought we were doing this together, that we wanted the same things. Apparently I was wrong."

"Not wrong," Eggsy says, chin up, still ready for the fight.

"Then if you have something you want to say," Harry says, "say it, Eggsy. You are not my student or my subordinate. And I am not a mind reader. I expect you to behave like a man and _tell_ me if you want something."

"You want me to tell you?" Eggsy snaps. The words sting, like he's being accused of acting like a child. Which he kind of is, right now, but screw it. "Fine. I can do that. I'll tell you that I fucking hate going out every night. I want to flip off your snooty neighbours every time they give me that look, like they know where I come from and I don't belong here. And I _really_ want to throw that freaky stuffed dog in the rubbish bin."

"You will do no such thing," Harry snaps back. "That dog—"

"Is fucking sick!" Eggsy exclaims. "Who does that? I'm gettin' rid of it, Harry." He actually starts walking toward the bathroom.

"You can do what you like when this house is yours," Harry says coldly, "but until then it still belongs to me. And I say the dog stays."

Eggsy stops dead. All the anger pours out of him in a rush, leaving him feeling cold all over. Slowly he turns around. "What did you just say?"

"I said, the dog stays," Harry says. He's still standing where he was, at the foot of the stairs. Still in his dark grey suit, tie perfectly knotted. Still looking angry but trying not to show it.

"Not that," Eggsy says. He can't shake that shivery feeling, that coldness clenched about his heart. "What you said about the house."

Harry's shoulders slump a little. He doesn't look angry then, or disappointed. He drops his gaze for a moment and takes a breath, like he's steeling himself for something he's not quite ready for. When he looks back up at Eggsy, he says, "When you were knighted and became Gawain, I amended my will. On my death, this house and everything I own goes to you."

Stunned, Eggsy can only say, "But why me?"

"Because I care about you a great deal," Harry says. "Because I want to take care of you, however I can." He walks toward Eggsy. "Because I can think of no one more deserving than you."

No one in his whole life has ever done such a thing for him. He doesn't even really know how to react. He's shocked and grateful and a little bit scared, and he has no idea which one he's supposed to be feeling. As a Kingsman people trust him with their lives, but this is completely different. This is a trust he's earned through nothing more than being himself, poor little chav Eggsy Unwin. It makes him uncomfortable, but at the same time he's deeply touched and amazed.

Not to mention so incredibly grateful that he met Harry, that fate brought them together like this. Because despite their argument, he really does love Harry. 

He's just said some really shitty things, though, and before he does anything else, he has to make that right. So he swallows his pride and he says, "I'm sorry," as Harry walks up. He steps forward and hugs him.

For a moment Harry only stands there, his spine rigid. Then he's hugging Eggsy back, bowing his head a little. "I'm sorry, too," he says. "I forget sometimes that you might find it difficult to speak up about certain things."

That hits too close to home, reminding Eggsy of all those painful lessons of his youth, learning to keep his mouth shut around Dean. "It's fine," he says. He doesn't want to think about that shit. He's still trying to wrap his brain around the idea of inheriting this house and everything in it. It would be nice to have a house and not have to worry about money, but knowing that it all would come at the cost of losing Harry makes him immediately reject it. He'd rather live in a cardboard box with Harry than in the biggest mansion in the world by himself.

He doesn't want this house. He only wants the man who lives in it.

"Are we all right?" Harry asks him.

Eggsy nods. "Yeah," he says. He releases Harry and moves back a step. He smiles, and only has to work a little to make it seem real. "I guess Mr. Pickle can stay. He was here first, after all."

"That's very generous of you," Harry says wryly. He sets his hand on Eggsy's shoulder. "Come on," he says. "I think we could both use a drink."

"You ain't lyin'," Eggsy says.

"And then we can make a list," Harry says as he leads the way toward the kitchen.

"List of what?" Eggsy asks.

"What to get at the shop tomorrow," Harry says. He pulls a pen and pad of paper out of a small drawer beside the sink. "For dinner."

This time Eggsy's smile is genuine. "Yeah," he says. "Good thinking." 

Harry smiles back, and that's when he knows for sure that they're going to be all right.

*******

_4\. Language_

 

Eggsy tugs discreetly at his cuffs and tries not to look like he's fussing. It's hard not to, though. He's never been surrounded by such a crowd. Earlier tonight, standing there in the hotel room with Harry, he had surveyed his appearance with pride. Now he feels almost ridiculously outclassed in his Kingsman tuxedo.

A passing waiter with a tray of champagne flutes offers him one. Eggsy accepts gratefully, not because he particularly wants it, but because holding the glass will at least give him something to do with his hands besides fiddle with his cuffs.

"Are we sure she's even here tonight?" he murmurs, sipping at his champagne to cover the movement of his lips as he speaks.

"Her invitation has been scanned," Merlin replies through the glasses. "She's there."

"We'll find her," Harry says in his other ear.

Eggsy looks around the ballroom for the eight hundredth time. He doesn't see their mark, a delegate for the United Nations who is supposedly being targeted for an assassination attempt. He, Roxy, and Harry are here at this fancy gala in order to place a tracker on her. Once they do that, they can follow her remotely and learn about her schedule, then start to formulate a plan to save her.

Instead of his target, what he does see is a hell of a lot of fancy people. He's surrounded by humanitarians, politicians, celebrities who want to be seen caring about the latest global issues, and even a few celebs who really do care -- he's pretty sure he saw Bono a few minutes ago. It's not quite the glittering crowd it would have been before V-Day, now that so many public figures are dead, but it's still fairly intimidating.

He also sees Harry strolling through the crowd with a faint smile on his lips, like he's just walked away from a group who told a funny story. He's gorgeous as ever in his black dinner jacket, tails crisp over those impossibly long legs, the black tie at his throat perfectly knotted. Even in this setting, surrounded by wealth and beauty, he draws eyes to him, and Eggsy takes a few moments to admire him, and still a few more to preen over the fact that when all this is over, he's the one who gets to leave with him.

Harry stops his apparently aimless stroll when he reaches a member of the Italian UN delegation. He smiles and nods, and then begins to speak to the diplomat – in flawless Italian.

Eggsy nearly chokes on his champagne.

"Are you all right, Gawain?" Merlin asks in his ear.

"Fine," Eggsy coughs. "Fine."

"You don't sound too fine," Roxy chimes in. He can't see her; she's been drawing admirers all evening in her slinky black dress. Right now she's in the other half of the ballroom, through the arched doors, dancing with various partners while she keeps an eye out for their target. Of them all, she's probably the only one having fun tonight.

Rather sullenly, Eggsy sets his champagne flute on the tray of another passing waiter. He tugs at his cuffs, glances again around the ballroom, and concludes that the UN lady they're looking for is really and truly not here. Maybe she's aware of the rumours of assassination swirling around her and decided it was better not to show her face in public.

Across the room but also in his ear, Harry starts speaking to another diplomat. This time in French.

It's too much for Eggsy. The sound of that baritone voice speaking such sexy languages is almost overwhelming. His trousers are suddenly too tight and he resists the urge to pull at his collar, wondering when the hell it became too warm in here.

He needs to get out of here, go stand outside and breathe some fresh air.

He was aware that Harry could speak multiple languages, of course. At Kingsman, such a talent is encouraged. Roxy can speak German, for instance. Eggsy, on the other hand, has often been accused of not even being able to speak English properly.

But he's never heard it. Not until now. Harry really should have warned him, he thinks wildly as he starts to walk toward the other ballroom.

"Merlin, I've got her," Roxy says in his ear then, as calm as ever. "I'm preparing to place the tracker."

Halfway toward the doors, Eggsy stops dead. He's got to be ready in case Roxy needs assistance.

But of course she doesn't. After another twenty seconds, she says, "Tracker has been placed."

"Well done, Lancelot," Merlin approves. "Target is acquired, and the signal looks good."

So that's it, then. They have no more reason to stay at the gala. Within fifteen minutes the three of them have left and are on their way back to the hotel.

Roxy's presence in the limo keeps Eggsy from saying anything during the drive back, but nothing can stop his mind from racing. All he can think about is getting Harry alone in their room, hearing Harry whisper filthy things in his ear, all in different languages. He's already hard just at the thought, and he has to keep his hands in his lap to hide it from Roxy.

The lift seems to take forever to reach their floor. They say good-night to Roxy and enter their room. The moment they're settled in, the keycard tossed on the dresser and the drapes drawn, Eggsy says, "How come you never told me you could speak all them languages?"

Harry looks mildly surprised. "You never asked."

"Well, I'm askin' now," Eggsy says. "How many do you speak?"

Harry considers this while he undoes his bow tie. "Fluently? Seven, including English."

Eggsy's eyes widen. His trousers are almost painfully tight. "Fucking hell, Harry. That's amazing."

"There's nothing amazing about it," Harry says simply. "Some people have an ear for languages. I happen to be one of them."

"Which ones?" Eggsy asks. He feels a little bit like he did on that first night he ever spent in Harry's house, when a lesson about proper dining room etiquette gave him his first real opportunity to get to know the man who had so thoroughly changed his life.

Standing there with the ends of his bow tie dangling down his chest, Harry counts them off. "French, Spanish, Italian. Arabic. Polish. Russian. And of course English." He pauses to consider. "I'm also conversational in Japanese, Portuguese and Turkish, although I wouldn't consider myself fluent."

"Fuck me," Eggsy sighs. Just when he thought he couldn't admire Harry any more than he already does. "So go on, then. Say something in one of 'em."

Harry whisks the bow tie off his neck. "It's not a parlour trick, Eggsy."

"Yeah, I know," he says. He saunters forward, trying not to smile and failing miserably. "I just think you're sexy when you're talking in Italian."

"Well," Harry says thoughtfully, "it _is_ one of the Romance languages."

"You can say that again," Eggsy says with feeling.

For a moment Harry seems like he's about to say something, then he sort of shakes his head, apparently changing his mind. He smiles. "So it's romance you're after, is it?"

"Nah," Eggsy says. "Just _you_."

The best thing about getting dressed up in a tuxedo isn't how good it makes a man look and feel. It's getting to undo it all at the end of the day, unfastening the many buttons, removing all those layers to slowly reveal the bodies hidden beneath. By the time they're stripped down to their bare skin, Eggsy is rock hard and aching for it.

Harry kisses him thoroughly, until his mouth is wet and swollen and he's gasping for more. He's never known anyone who could kiss like Harry Hart. Nothing else exists for him when Harry's mouth is on his, when he can't tell anymore where he ends and Harry begins. He would devote twenty years of his life to Harry for just a single one of those kisses, and still come back begging for more.

He's almost dizzy when Harry finally drags his mouth down Eggsy's throat, nipping lightly at the mole on his neck along the way. He reaches out to cup Harry's face in his hands, but with a devilish smirk, Harry evades his grasp and lowers himself gracefully to his knees. "Studying languages isn't all vocabulary and grammar," he says, and Eggsy just gapes at him, his brain made too sluggish by lust to get the connection at first. 

"Let me show you something else the Italians taught me," Harry says, and then his mouth is on Eggsy's cock, silky hot and utterly obscene.

Eggsy throws back his head and makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. It's all he's capable of. He's forgotten how to speak – in any language.

****

He's nearly asleep when he hears a quiet noise from behind him. It's late, and he's worn out from the journey here, then the UN gala, then the scorching hot sex. He doesn't move from where he's lying on his side, Harry's arm around him, one of Harry's knees pressed to the back of his leg.

"Eggsy," Harry whispers. His breath is warm on Eggsy's neck as he speaks. "Eggsy, ti mne nuzjen, ya tebya hochu, ya tebya lublu."

Little shivers run down Eggsy's spine. He doesn't understand what Harry just said, but he doesn't care. The words themselves aren't important. It's Harry's voice, and the depth of the emotion behind the unfamiliar words. Those are the things that matter.

Harry kisses the back of his neck lightly, so lightly, not wanting to wake him up. The language changes then, still incomprehensible to Eggsy, but no less warm and tender. "Kochany, nie masz pojęcia ile dla mnie znaczysz."

Another kiss, stirring the hair just above his collar. Another language, spoken with such feeling. It's not sexy now. Instead the strange words make him feel strangely safe and secure, like he has nothing to worry about. "Prometo siempre velar por ti."

There is more, but Eggsy lets his mind drift, focusing not on the words or the languages, but the sound of Harry's voice full of such warmth and affection, and the way it makes him feel. Like he would never want to be anywhere else.

He's still listening as he falls asleep.

********

_5\. Medal_

 

"Eggsy, could you grab one of my handkerchiefs?" Harry calls one Friday morning. It's pitch-black outside and raining, and Eggsy is still barely awake. It's cold out, chilly even inside the house, and he just wants to crawl back into bed and burrow beneath the covers and sleep for another two hours.

But duty calls. And so does Harry.

With a sigh he opens the top drawer of Harry's dresser. Everything in here is neatly folded: socks, underwear, handkerchiefs, pocket squares. The first time Eggsy saw it all, he couldn't help laughing a little. Because seriously, what kind of person folds their underwear?

But he's been living here for a couple months now, and he's had plenty of time to get used to Harry's little quirks. Most of them are rather endearing, really, and just make Eggsy love him all the more.

He pushes aside some of the socks and reaches for a handkerchief. As he does, his fingers brush against something solid, something very obviously not a sock. Curious, he feels along the object, then pulls it out.

It's a white box, four inches square. The kind of box that might hold a bracelet or a watch or a large pair of earrings.

With a guilty glance toward the bathroom, where Harry waits, Eggsy opens the box.

The item inside the box isn't any piece of jewelry, although it _is_ made of gold. Eggsy stares down at it and his heart starts to pound. He knows this, the black, blue, and red striping of the ribbon, the stylized K, the rose-colored border. For seventeen years he's known it – all too well.

How the hell Harry got it, though, that's the question. Is Kingsman sick enough to reward two medals – one for the grieving family and one for the person who made it all necessary in the first place? Before he realises what he means to do, Eggsy reaches out and grabs the medal. He flips it over, and for a moment his certainty is so strong that he actually reads the date as the one he's seen for most of his life, the date Lee Unwin died.

Just as he hears the bathroom door open, his vision clears, and he sees the date for what it really is.

06-14-69

He looks up as Harry walks in. For a moment they both freeze, Harry staring at him in astonished surprise, Eggsy with the guilt of someone caught red-handed. And he knows, he _knows_ , that Harry isn't going to yell and hit him for "snooping around," but he can't help that his first reaction is to flinch back as he drops the box back in the dresser drawer. "Sorry," he says quickly. "I wasn't, I mean, I just found it."

Harry approaches. He doesn't look angry. He doesn't really look much of anything, actually, his expression carefully neutral. He holds out his hand, and after a moment, Eggsy reaches into the box and gently lays the medal on his palm.

A long moment of silence passes between them. Harry touches the medal lightly, his fingertips barely grazing the surface. And now that Eggsy isn't blinded by shock, he can see how old it is, the colors of the ribbon faded and dull.

Harry still isn't saying anything, and it's starting to feel awkward, so Eggsy says, "Was it your dad?" It makes sense, he figures, Harry joining Kingsman as part of a legacy. It would explain why Harry chose him to start another legacy, a father killed and the son taking his place.

"My mother, actually," Harry says.

Eggsy's mind goes perfectly blank. He has absolutely no idea what to say.

Harry turns the medal over and rubs his thumb over the date etched on the back. He looks sadder than Eggsy has ever seen him before.

He doesn't know if he should ask, or if he should wait to see if Harry volunteers anything. He feels horribly guilty, so thoughtless and cruel, bringing up obviously painful memories.

He knows nothing about Harry's childhood and family. Nothing of the circumstances that led Harry to Kingsman. He knows a little bit about how Harry became Galahad, because they've compared stories of their training. He knows Harry was only 18 when he joined Kingsman, their youngest recruit ever – but that's all he knows.

And that ain't right, Eggsy decides. At their very first meeting, sitting there in the Black Prince, Harry revealed that he knew so many of the details of Eggsy's life, both the good and the bad. At the time he had been too busy getting angry and defensive to wonder how this total stranger had known all that stuff. He had thought about it after that day, of course, but by then it hadn't seemed to matter because he had been so focused on becoming a Kingsman. More to the point, even without any real knowledge of the man himself, he had already been well on his way toward falling in love with Harry.

But it matters now. He wants to know about Harry Hart. His life, his childhood, all of it. Everything there is to know.

"Was she an agent?" he asks.

"No," Harry says. He closes his fingers over the medal, hiding it from view. "She was tech, actually. Communications. Much like Merlin." He looks up at Eggsy and he smiles a little.

That smile is good to see. He wouldn't be able to bear it if Harry were to cry. "So what happened?"

Harry glances around, then sets his free hand on Eggsy's arm. They walk over to the bed and sit down, Harry in a pinstriped suit, Eggsy still barefoot and in a T-shirt.

"Her code name was Elaine," Harry says. "Normally she didn't go into the field, but there was a need for extra agents that day. She volunteered to go."

Harry speaks softly, his gaze unfocused as he stares at nothing in particular. Eggsy, who knows all too well the grief over a lost parent, leans gently against him and slips an arm about him. Harry's mouth quirks upward in a brief gesture of appreciation, but he still does not look at Eggsy.

"The mission went badly. Two Kingsmen were killed, including my mother. But she, at least, was successful. In a way. With her sacrifice she bought enough time for another agent to make his escape and survive."

"And he's the one who brought you that?" Eggsy says, gesturing to the medal still hidden in Harry's hand.

"Yes," Harry says.

"Who was he?" Eggsy asks, and prays it wasn't the Galahad who came before Harry.

The answer, though, is far worse. "You knew him as Arthur."

Eggsy reels. _Arthur._ Chester fucking King. He tries to imagine it. Tiny Harry, six years old and still so innocent. A younger Arthur squatting down in front of that child, holding out a shiny medal of valor, offering words of comfort to a grieving family.

He can't do it. There's no way it went down like that. He knows that in the very marrow of his bones. Chester King was never that compassionate. He was never no Harry Hart.

He wants to ask so many questions. What was Harry's father like? What was it like for him growing up without a mother? When did he learn the truth about her death – for surely he hadn't known it until much later, until he became a Kingsman himself. Who sponsored him for membership and why? Was it Chester King, motivated by some vestige of conscience, wanting to make up for the loss he probably told himself he wasn't responsible for?

Instead Eggsy turns to Harry and kisses him on the warm skin just in front of his ear. He shifts over a little and kisses Harry again, this time on his cheek, smooth and scented with aftershave. Another shift and he's practically in Harry's lap so he can kiss him on the mouth.

Harry kisses him back, but then surprises him by wrapping both arms around him and hugging him.

Eggsy freezes at first, not sure what's happening. But Harry doesn't say anything. He just sits there with his arms around Eggsy, holding on so tight, like he's afraid to let go. And maybe he is. Maybe nobody's ever told him it's okay to grieve, even many years later.

So Eggsy reaches up and hugs him back. He holds on with everything he's got, trying to say with his body what he can't put into words.

_I'm here. I love you. I'm never letting go._

_I love you._

After a long time Harry releases him and sits up. There's faint colour in his cheeks like he's a little bit embarrassed, but his eyes are dry. He uncurls his fingers and looks down at the medal for a moment. Then he stands up and heads over to the dresser.

Eggsy watches him put the medal back in its box. "Wait," he says.

Harry turns to look at him, curious but not asking. Eggsy gets up and goes to his nightstand and opens the top drawer. There's a lot of loose junk in here, mostly little things he doesn't really have a home for yet in this house that will one day be his.

The drawstring bag is grubby with age; Jamal gave it to him back when they were still kids. He opens it now and takes out the medal safely stored inside. Since becoming an agent, he doesn't wear it anymore, too afraid to lose it while running for his life in some city halfway across the globe.

"Here," he says. "Keep this with it." He holds it up.

Harry's eyes go soft with emotion. "Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yeah," Eggsy nods. It feels right. Those missing parents should be together, looking out for the sons who followed in their footsteps, determined to do it right.

He smiles a little. "Yeah, I'm sure."

The two medals nestle side by side in the white box, one so much older than the other. Harry puts the lid on, then slides the box back into the dresser drawer where it used to rest before Eggsy found it. He closes the drawer, but before he can do anything else, Eggsy hugs him.

Immediately Harry embraces him in return. "Thank you, Eggsy," he breathes, and everything is okay then.

*******

_+1 Love_

 

The day passes fairly quickly, as most of them do. Eggsy spends several hours getting flying lessons from Bors, first in the classroom, then practical lessons in one of the Kingsman jets. He's getting pretty good at it, and he really enjoys it, too. There's just something incredible about viewing the Earth from so high up, knowing that he's in control.

By the time he brings the plane back into the hangar, it's late afternoon. He and Harry meet up at the firing range and spend the next hour blowing up targets. Eggsy still has a lot to learn about being a Kingsman, but in this, at least, he and Harry are damn near equals. In between the deafening roar of small arms fire (and sometimes not-so-small arms fire), they talk about Eggsy's flight lesson and Harry gives him some tips.

Eggsy listens and nods, and watches Harry line up his next target. After a day spent in research, Harry looks just as crisply pressed and immaculate as he did when they left the house this morning. 

Eggsy can't wait to get home and unravel him.

Dinner that night is nothing special, just the leftovers from yesterday, but it still tastes good. Eggsy keeps stealing little glances up at Harry, not even bothering to hide his smile. Sometimes it strikes him all over again how incredibly fucking lucky he is to have ended up here. So many things could have gone wrong – most of them happening all on the same terrible day – but here they are.

After dinner they do the dishes and Eggsy takes JB out. When he comes back, Harry is settled in his favourite armchair, reading a book. He looks relaxed, glasses on, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, one thick curl falling onto his forehead. He also looks incredibly sexy, and the tension Eggsy's been harboring for most of the day kicks it up a notch.

Sauntering casually, like he totally doesn't have seduction on his mind, he walks up behind the chair where Harry sits. He leans down, braces his forearms on the back of the chair, and nuzzles up against Harry's cheek. "Hi."

"Hello," Harry replies without looking up from his book. He knows what's up, though. Of course he does. But Harry can be a little shit a surprising amount of the time, something Eggsy has taken great delight in discovering.

He rests his chin on Harry's shoulder and with one hand idly rubs at the back of Harry's neck, just the way he knows Harry likes. Harry's eyes drift closed, and the book sinks to his lap. He makes a contented humming sound.

Eggsy keeps at it for a little bit. He loves this, watching Harry relax, the spy and killer put away for the day along with the shoulder holsters and the many weapons. He loves the way those careful walls around Harry come down brick by brick, giving him tantalising glimpses of the man behind them.

"Harry?" he asks.

"Yes?" Harry says, and opens his eyes.

"Any room for me in that chair?"

He knows perfectly well that there is. They've done this before, after all. But he likes the way Harry pretends to think it over, a gleam of mischief in those warm brown eyes. He also likes the way Harry shifts a little in the chair just at the thought of Eggsy joining him.

"I suppose there might be," Harry allows.

"One way to find out," Eggsy suggests archly.

He kicks off his shoes and moves around to the front of the chair. He smirks down at Harry, who calmly places his bookmark in between the pages to mark where he left off, before setting the book on the table beside the chair.

With nothing to stand between them now, Eggsy settles himself in the chair, one knee on either side of Harry's hips, his feet hanging over the edge of the cushion. Slowly he lowers his weight until his arse is resting on Harry's thighs.

He smiles. "Hi again."

"Hello, Eggsy," Harry says.

In this position, he has the advantage of height – not something he can say very often. It gives him a bit of a thrill to be the one who has to lean down for a kiss, to see Harry lift his head and expose the line of his throat in order to meet his lips.

Harry's hands tug at his shirt, pulling it free from his waistband before diving beneath to spread out on his back, warm and possessive. Already his patience is wearing thin, and Eggsy smiles into their kiss, because he's not in the mood to drag things out, either. He wants Harry, and he wants him now.

They're still kissing, wet and sloppy now. He palms Harry's cock through his trousers, grinding a little with the heel of his hand. In response, Harry bites at his lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Eggsy applies more pressure with his hand, not enough to hurt, but enough to make Harry inhale sharply and shift in the chair.

They draw back a little and stare at each other. Harry is flushed and breathing hard, and Eggsy knows damn well that he looks exactly the same. 

So this is how it's going to be, then, this edge of barely restrained violence.

He grins.

Harry yanks his shirt off in one swift move, and Eggsy sways with the pull on his body. He rips at the buttons on Harry's dress shirt, then shoves it off Harry's shoulders and down. The buttons at the cuffs are still done, though, so there's no removing the shirt, but this actually works in Eggsy's favuor –- with the expensive shirt pinning Harry's arms to his sides, it gives him another advantage.

Not that Harry is helpless. He leans in and puts his hands on Eggsy's back again, then pulls him forward. He might not be able to use his arms freely, but there is nothing wrong with his mouth. He kisses and licks at Eggsy's chest, tonguing his nipples and then grazing them with his teeth, a blend of sensation that soon has Eggsy panting and swearing under his breath.

His trousers are too tight, he needs them gone. He rocks his hips forward and sinks his hands in Harry's hair, pulling a little. He half-expects Harry to fight him, but instead Harry lets his head be pulled back, licking a wet stripe up Eggsy's chest as a parting gift. 

Eggsy stares down at him, and he can't believe how much he fucking loves this man. Harry's eyes are more black than brown, and moisture pearls on his lower lip. He's everything Eggsy ever wanted, and it blows his mind that he actually gets to have this, not just tonight, but every night.

"I want you," he mutters. "Right now." Without taking his eyes off Harry's, still with that grip on Harry's hair, he slips his free hand down between them. Working by touch alone, he undoes Harry's belt and trousers, and he can't help glancing down then, smiling appreciatively at the sight of Harry's erect cock. "I'm guessin' you want me, too."

"Eggsy," Harry says, his voice deeper than usual. His hands flex on Eggsy's back.

"Yeah," Eggsy says. "Come on." He lets go of Harry's hair and makes quick work of his own fly, freeing his cock and sliding forward on Harry's legs until they are pressed together. "Is this… Are you…?"

For an answer, Harry's hands slide down his back to cup his arse, yanking him still closer. Harry's cock rubs against his, and his hips jerk forward at the contact.

They find the right rhythm almost immediately. Eggsy does most of the work, his thighs flexing as he moves against Harry, seeking greater friction. Harry's hands are never still, roaming over his back and arse. He grabs Harry's shoulders, seeking leverage for his thrusts; in the morning there will be bruises on Harry's skin that he can fit his fingertips into.

"Eggsy." Harry pants his name, breath searing Eggsy's throat. He dips his head and finds Harry's mouth again and they're kissing, as hot and frantic as their movements.

Harry comes first, his body stiffening against Eggsy's. His head tips back, and Eggsy licks into his open mouth. It takes a little bit longer to find his own release, shuddering all over as Harry holds him close.

He's still riding the high of orgasm when Harry says, "Oh my dear Eggsy, I love you."

Everything comes to a screeching halt. For a few moments he's still helplessly caught by the pleasure shuddering through him, then it passes and he's able to think again.

He stares at Harry, part of him unable to believe he heard right. He knows it can't be true. It was wishful thinking, an auditory hallucination, whatever bullshit name you want to call it. He's been in love with Harry for so long, and yeah, there have been plenty of times when he wished that love was returned, but he's been really happy with what he's got. He knows Harry cares a lot about him, they have amazing sex, and Harry seems happy to have him here. He was never going to push and demand something Harry might not be able to give.

So to hear it now… "What did you say?" he demands.

"I said, I love you," Harry says, and kisses him.

Oh fuck, it _is_ true, it's true, it's true, and Eggsy feels almost light-headed with the sudden burst of joy that fills him. He kisses Harry back with everything he's got – and then he can't help but laugh.

"I love you too, you know," he says. "I've been wantin' to say it for so long, but I didn't want to scare you off."

Harry gives him a look, one brow lifted. "If you think I am that easily scared," he says.

"I guess I know better now, don't I?" Eggsy says. He grins. It's impossible not to. He can't remember a time he was ever this happy, and that includes the day he found out Harry hadn't died at that church.

He takes Harry's face in both his hands and stares down into his eyes. "I love you, Harry Hart," he says. "Down to my very soul." He smirks. "See, you even make me get all poetic on you."

"That's not all you got on me," Harry says with a perfectly straight face, and Eggsy just laughs his head off, because God he seriously loves this man.

"Can't do nothing about my poetic stirrings," he chuckles, "but I _can_ do somethin' about the other." He climbs off Harry's legs, tucks himself back into his trousers, and heads into the kitchen.

A few damp paper towels take care of the sticky mess on their stomachs. Harry's shirt is probably ruined, but Eggsy doesn't worry about it too much. It isn't the first time this has happened, and it certainly won't be the last.

He crowds into the armchair beside Harry. There isn't really enough room for both of them to sit comfortably, so he angles himself to one side, sitting with his legs across Harry's thighs. He rests his head on Harry's shoulder and sighs contentedly as Harry's arm wraps around him.

They don't talk. They don't have to. Harry's hand strokes lazily up and down his arm. Eggsy thinks about the flying lessons he's got tomorrow, and wonders if Bors would object to having Harry come along. He thinks about all the things he's going to do to Harry later tonight. It's early enough in the evening that by the time they go to bed, Harry should be ready to go again, and this time they can go slow, tease each other and draw things out until they can't bear it a second longer.

He thinks about all those little things he's learning about Harry and what kind of man he is. All those words still waiting, unspoken until the right moment. All those things he still has to discover.

He can't wait to get started.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: 
> 
> Russian -- I need you, I want you, I love you  
> Polish -- Beloved, you will never know how much you mean to me  
> Spanish -- I promise I will always look after you


End file.
